


Contents of a Deadman's Pocket

by EvilMuffins



Category: Dangan Ronpa, New Dangan Ronpa V3: Everyone's New Semester of Killing
Genre: Handcuffs, M/M, Weird Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-01
Updated: 2018-01-01
Packaged: 2019-02-13 08:19:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,062
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12979965
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EvilMuffins/pseuds/EvilMuffins
Summary: “Saihara-chan,” Ouma leaned in on the ball of his toes, taking Saihara’s cuffed hand into his own. “Your hands are shaking. You’re not still frightened of me, are you?” His voice dipped into a low murmur as he spoke, different from seconds before, his expression of feral innocence mellowing into something more subdued.---Saihara returns to Hoshi's lab in search of more clues, only to find more than he expected.





	Contents of a Deadman's Pocket

**Author's Note:**

  * For [eris](https://archiveofourown.org/users/eris/gifts).



> I was so thrilled to see someone requesting Oumasai! I hope this isn't too far from what you were hoping for!  
> This is set during the second investigation, and assumes that Saihara has completed Ouma's FTEs already. Title is taken from my very favorite [short story](http://drnissani.net/MNISSANI/20302005/Deadman.htm). I feel like it's one that both Saihara and Ouma would be a fan of as well.  
> Happy Yuletide!

_What if I’m missing something,_ Saihara thought, as he opened the door to Hoshi’s lab for the second time that hour. As supportive and upbeat as Momota was, he could also be something of a distraction at times. Saihara wasn’t one to blame a friend for his own incompetence, however the fact remained that while Momota had been speaking, Saihara had completely managed to overlook the odd cell-like shower stalls. There could possibly have been traces of blood left there, if the killer had attempted to clean themselves up afterward.

Unfortunately, a cursory inspection of each stall revealed nothing of note, the tiles completely dry in each, clearly unused. It was really no surprise anyway, as not only did the lab itself lack any sort of lock, but the shower stalls had nothing but bars to provide any modesty. No one in their right mind would ever think to actually shower in such a place (well, save for perhaps Iruma, Saihara thought, but that wasn’t an image he wanted to dwell on).

As he took a final once-over of the farthest cell, Saihara heard the sound of the shower room door opening behind him.

“Ah, Momota-kun, sorry for coming back without-“

“Ni-shi-shi!” Saihara spun around to see Ouma, hands laced casually behind his head, sauntering over toward the window overlooking the pool. All in all, he reminded Saihara quite of his uncle’s cat, when she would come into his room with the express purpose to bat something off the edge of his desk. “ That’s right, my beloved Saihara-chan! I’ve been lying to you allll this time, and my name is actually Kaito Momota! That other Kaito Momota guy is just my stunt double. If we were to switch places, no one would ever know the difference!”

Suddenly, Saihara felt as if he were the one with piranhas gnawing at _his_ brain. How Ouma had even gotten there without his passing him in the hall, Saihara had no idea.

“Ouma-kun…did you find something else out?” Saihara ventured, although certain it was too much to hope for.

“Nah. It’s just, to be honest, after seeing that naked girl running around in the courtyard last night, I thought I’d check the showers on the off chance that any of my favorite boys were naked instead. To cleanse my eyes, you know?” Ouma gazed forlornly out of the window as he spoke, as if vaguely traumatized by the memory. “…Just kidding! I came by to check up on you. I saw you sneaking around without Momota-chan, so I followed you to make sure this wouldn’t turn into a double murder. I’d be just devastated if anything were to happen to my beloved Saihara-chan!”

“…Sure.” Saihara remained wholly unconvinced, despite the fact that Ouma had shifted his wide, violet gaze to look Saihara straight in the eye. Of course, as a detective, one of the first things that Saihara had learned was how to recognise the tells for when someone was lying. Ouma, however, seemed to adhere to none of it. Was he simply a good actor, or was there just something else going on with his head? Saihara supposed that he should feel sorry for him in that case, but there was so little time for dwelling on things other than the murders of their friends. “Judging by the last time, there’s probably only a few minutes left until the trial, Ouma-kun, so I-“

His words were interrupted by a metallic click, and the sensation of something hard and cold encircling his wrist.

“O-Ouma-kun, this isn’t funny!” Saihara scolded, eyes darting from the handcuff around his wrist back to Ouma, fixing him with what he hoped was a stern expression, just in time to witness him clamping the other end around one of the bars making up the cell door. 

“Hmm…” Ouma hummed, putting a finger before his lips, as if divulging some well-kept secret, “I wonder what would happen if one of us were late for the class trial?”

“Ouma-kun, cut this out!” Saihara insisted, scanning the room for where the keys might have been kept. He hadn’t noticed before, but they weren't kept hanging on the same pegs as the corresponding sets of cuffs.

He took a deep breath, trying to relax. As soon as the chime sounded, Ouma would let him free…wouldn’t he? It was just another harmless prank, no different from a few days ago when Ouma had joked about killing him for knowing too about his non-existent organization. “I don’t know what would happen, but I’m sure it wouldn’t end well. Would you really want to risk Monokuma declaring some sort of mistrial and having us all killed, yourself included?”

“Saihara-chan,” Ouma leaned in on the ball of his toes, taking Saihara’s cuffed hand into his own. “Your hands are shaking. You’re not still frightened of me, are you?” His voice dipped into a low murmur as he spoke, different from seconds before, his expression of feral innocence mellowing into something more subdued.

“It’s just from too much caffeine,” Saihara sighed, knowing that he owed Ouma no further explanation, yet unable stop himself, as if his brain were trying to counter balance Ouma’s lies with a surplus of truth. “I found some caffeine pills in the warehouse, and I’ve been taking them in the mornings since we got here.”

Ouma's eyes grew wide again, with what Saihara thought to be genuine curiosity. “Why not just drink coffee or tea, like the rest of us? It's not like Mom won't make us anything we ask for. Besides, isn’t drinking tons of coffee, like, a detective’s _thing?_ ”

It took Saihara a full moment to realise that he was talking about Toujou. Did Ouma not have a mother of his own back home, Saihara wondered, what with the way he had latched onto the first girl who would take care of him as if it were something fun and novel to him. Maybe that was some common ground the two of them shared, he thought, faint notes of piano music flowing through his mind. It wasn’t as if his mother was very present in his own life back home either, after all.

“It’s just a bad habit from back home, that’s all. It was always quicker to just down a pill instead of heating up the water and everything.” Generally, the only thing percolating during his mornings back home was the anxiety in his stomach, taking the place of the meals he would always skip.

“I bet you’re the kind of guy who would then have to take a Nyquil to get himself to sleep every night!” Ouma giggled, delighted in the fact that he clearly had Saihara’s habits completely pegged.

It was only then that Saihara realised the fact that his hand still rested in Ouma's, as a thumb brushed over his palm, touch feather-light. For someone who claimed to be an evil overlord, Ouma had very gentle hands, and it wasn’t the first time that Saihara had taken notice of this.

“By the way, how’s your hand doing?” Saihara asked, taking note of the band-aid wrapped around his pointer finger, red blotch showing through the cotton pad. The knife cut he had accidentally given himself the day before had been deep enough that Saihara had thought it might’ve needed stitches, if they had had access to proper medical care. As it was, it would more than likely leave a scar.

“Oh, it’s actually all better now, thanks to your tender loving care!” Ouma quickly withdrew his hand as he spoke, letting Saihara's own fall limply, as far as the chain between the cuffs would allow. “I’m actually still only wearing this because you were the one who put it on me. I haven’t washed my hands in three days! …That’s a lie. It smarts a little, but only because you reminded me about it, so thank-you-very-much, Saihara-chan.”

“What would have done had you seriously hurt yourself?” Saihara asked, hand-cuffs clanking as he tried to settle his arm into a comfortable position all the while telling himself that the odd sensation taking up residence in his fingers was from simple pins-and-needles caused by holding it elevated, rather than the loss of contact with Ouma’s hand.

“Well you see,” Ouma began to rock back and forth on his heels again, grin spread far too wide for such a small face to accommodate. Saihara wasn’t sure how he had ever managed to stay still for an entire trial, “the nifty thing about that is… I can’t die!”

“O-oh?” Saihara replied conversationally. Playing along seemed to be his best bet for the moment, if he ever wanted to be set free in time. Although his uncle had taught him how to dislocate his thumb in case a situation such as this should arise, he very much preferred not to go that route.

“Saihara-chan will remember me after I’m gone, so I won’t really be dead, no matter what happens to me.” Ouma’s voice fell soft again, and Saihara caught himself in the realisation that his statement wasn't even a lie- there was certainly no way that Saihara could ever forget meeting someone like Kokichi Ouma, no matter what became of either of them by the end of this entire ordeal.

“What about me, then?” Saihara asked, voice echoing Ouma's own hushed tone out of what felt like its own volition, as if a stranger were speaking through him. 

“’What about you’, what?” Ouma tilted his head, tossing the question back innocently as if he had simply gone to grocery store alone and forgot to pick something up for Saihara.

“Am I also going to live on if Monokuma finds me here instead of at the trial?”

“Eh, he’ll probably just lop your arm off to get you free of the cuffs and drag you over to the trials grounds! You’ll be fine!” Ouma assured him.

“ _Ouma-kun!”_ Saihara hissed, just barely containing a shout. _Play along,_ he reminded himself. “You… you already ‘killed’ me once the other day, remember?” Ouma nodded fondly, nostalgic, as if for a sunny afternoon spent in the park together. “So what do you stand to gain from playing around like this?”

Saihara was surprised that the announcement hadn’t sounded already. There must have been only a matter of seconds left.

Ouma leaned in once more, however this time, his thin arms snaked completely around Saihara’s middle, hands coming to rest of the small of his back as he murmured into his chest. “Maybe I’m worried about Saihara-chan. Maybe I think that he deserves a rest every now and then…”

Saihara found himself almost glad for the inability to fully use his arm, as, given the situation, he had no real idea what to do with it anyway. He settled for resting his free hand against Ouma’s upper arm, silently praying that he couldn’t feel that the quaking in his hand had increased. At least with his face buried in Saihara’s chest, the shorter boy couldn’t see the redness spreading over his face, although this did also situate him unfortunately close to Saihara's cartwheeling heart.  “O-Ouma-kun…?”

“Hmm? You seem to be enjoying this,” Ouma purred, dropping a hand from Saihara’s back to trail fingers over his thigh. “Is there something in your pants that you'd like to share with the class, Saihara-chan?”

“My _what-!_?” Saihara’s eyes darted downward toward the front of his pants, just as Ouma pushed him backwards, causing his back to collide painfully with the cell bars.

“Juuust kidding!” Ouma sing-songed, skipping backward gleefully, as if doing a trick with some unseen jump rope. “I’d hate to be late for another fun trial, so I’ll catch you later~!”

With that, he was out the door, and Saihara was still trapped in a prison-themed bathroom, cool iron rods pressing insistently between his shoulder blades as he stood momentarily stunned.

At a loss for what else to do, save for shouting for the others, and consequently having to endure Iruma’s lewd comments over his predicament, Saihara patted at his pocket. Sure enough, he could feel a small, toothed key-like shape between the fabric.

Saihara heaved a breath he hadn’t realised he’d been holding. If one participant managed to give another a heart attack, would that still count as murder? he wondered for what wouldn't be the first- or last- time.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> https://evil-muffins.tumblr.com/  
> https://twitter.com/mikan_komaeda


End file.
